Wunderkind
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story #36 Spock still heads Starfleet Academy, but at home there are changes on the way, and his young son is not happy about it. Will Simon's worries land him in trouble?
1. Chapter 1

Simon gazed out the window, lost in the rhythmic swaying of a young sycamore tree in the schoolyard. The sudden weight of a hand touched his right shoulder. He jumped, and for an instant could actually feel the teacher's thoughts pressing in on his own. He struggled to reinforce the mental barriers his father had taught him to erect.

"Simon," she said, "you're daydreaming again, aren't you?"

His face burned with embarrassment. "Sorry, Mrs. Caprino," he mumbled, and turned back to his work.

It was a relief when she took her hand away. Mrs. Caprino was really a nice lady and she was pretty, too—but Simon hated it when she touched him, like today. He had even complained about it to his father, but Spock said that he needed to get used to being touched, even by strangers. He needed to exercise his barriers to make them really strong.

Simon stared at the science lesson on his desk monitor. Just yesterday he had done a special report on his recent visit to Vulcan, focusing on the planet's environment and culture. Father let him bring his great-great-grandfather's musical instruments to show the class. Simon talked about them and played a little something on each one. It was the only science project he had ever enjoyed, because it was more about music than anything else. The teacher had been happy with him—he could tell.

But in his report, he had not told _everything_ about Vulcan. The way some of the children thought they were so smart and strong and superior. The way they played cruel tricks on him and called him names like "freak" and "Earther". Mom said he should leave that part out, that children everywhere could be mean. She said to only include things in his report that would "promote interplanetary harmony". After all, she had reminded him, he was part Vulcan, too.

Simon and his big sister T'Beth had the same amount of Vulcan blood, but she looked a lot more Vulcan than him. She was smart, too. T'Beth was twenty-four years old, and he bet she had never gotten a bad grade in her whole life.

He hunched down behind the student in front of him so the teacher couldn't see him. He tried hard to concentrate on his science lesson, but he got a sick feeling inside and his mind began to freeze up. He would never be as good at it as Father. Why couldn't he be as smart as a Vulcan, as smart as him? He wanted to make Spock proud.

"Simon."

At the sound of her voice Simon straightened and looked up. The teacher stared at him from her desk at the front of the room. He could feel the eyes of all his classmates staring at him, too.

"Come here," she said.

He stood up and nervously tugged at the gold uniform jacket he wore above his navy blue pants. Out of habit, his hand drifted upward. The V.H.I. crest on the breast pocket felt rough under his fingers. He like the way the embroidered crown of leaves curled around the school initials.

"Simon?" the teacher prompted.

Heart pounding, he approached the teacher's desk.

Mrs. Caprino looked deep into his eyes. In a kind, gentle voice she said, "Simon, what's the matter? Why aren't you doing your work?"

He hung his head, too ashamed to speak, too ashamed to tell her what he had been thinking.

"I know you can handle this material," she said. "Is something distracting you?"

He gave no answer.

"Simon, you need to learn this lesson for the test Friday."

Panic seized him at the thought of the weekly test. They just kept getting harder and harder.

Mrs. Caprino sighed. "Go back to your seat, Simon. Get busy."

oooo

Lauren did not know whether to laugh or cry. Back when her marriage was in ruins, she had been deeply upset to learn she was pregnant with Simon. But things were different now. Her married life was stable and fulfilling, and she had even spoken with Spock about having another child. She should be eager to share today's news, but instead she had kept it to herself, hoping to sort through her feelings before telling him. But the passing of the hours had not improved her emotional state. She came home tired from her work at the research department, her stomach a bit queasy and her nerves on edge. Simon was in a strange, clingy mood that left her with little patience. It annoyed her that Spock was late for the dinner that she had not felt like preparing. They were mentally bonded. Shouldn't he have sensed how much she needed him on this, of all days?

When Spock finally came home, she retreated to the bedroom and lay down in the dark. After a while she heard Simon start to practice his violin. A short time later the door opened. Quietly Spock walked in and lit his attunement lamp. With the dancing of its flame, the bedroom came alive with shadows.

Lauren turned onto her back and looked at him. Forestalling the inevitable, she said, "He plays beautifully, doesn't he?"

Spock sat down beside her. For a moment they both listened to the violin concerto rendered by their six-year-old son.

"Yes," Spock replied, "he is most gifted. Today his music instructor spoke to me about entering him in another competition. He feels it would give Simon valuable exposure beyond what he receives in the school orchestra."

"Simon seems to thrive on it," Lauren said. "When he gets up to perform, he slips into another world."

"His mind is remarkably focused for a child his age."

"He gets that from you."

Spock shook his head. "I was no musical prodigy."

The word made Lauren uneasy. Today there was no trusting her emotions. "Spock, is that what he is? A prodigy? A wunderkind?"

"I sometimes think so," Spock admitted. "It is as if he combines the mental acuity of a Vulcan with the human's ability to give music an emotional depth."

Lauren rested a hand on her stomach and stared into the shadows. "It doesn't even sound like we're talking about a child. A little boy."

"When it comes to music," Spock said, "he seems older than his years."

"But in some ways he's still just a baby."

"Hardly that," Spock remarked.

The soulful strains of Simon's music came to an end. In the brief interlude between pieces, Spock leaned over Lauren and gently touched her cheek. "You seemed rather angry downstairs."

"Just a mood," she said, meeting his eyes. Taking hold of his hand, she pressed it against her thudding heart. The bond between them hummed with a sweet music all its own as she added, "I have something to tell you."

Spock gravely studied her face. "You do not look at all well."

Her mouthed twitched in a fruitless effort to keep from smiling. "Do I look pregnant?"

His left eyebrow rose sharply and then a hint of a smile stirred his lips, too.

Working up her courage, she said, "There's more. One more, to be exact."

His eyes widened in astonishment. _"Twins?"_

She nodded.

Spock rose and turning from her, stood motionless in the shadows. The peculiar action confused Lauren. If he did not want to be near her, if he did not want her to see his face…

She sat up and swung her legs off the bed. "It's…it's a girl…and another boy—like my brother Larry and me. Spock…I'm sorry…"

He turned around and looked at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Sorry?"

"We already have two children between us. We'd only talked about one more…"

His mouth opened slightly. He tilted his head in the quizzical mannerism she had always found so endearing. Only now she was blind to everything but her own distress.

He said, "The idea of twins makes you unhappy?"

Her voice wavered with emotion. "It seems like it makes _you_ unhappy."

"You are wrong." Stepping closer, Spock gathered her into his arms and she clung to him. "After seven years," he said softly. "Aisha…how could you know so little of me?"

The tender reproach loosed the tears she had been fighting, and Lauren began to sob. She felt relieved and blissful and utterly foolish to let herself get so completely out of control. Simon was playing the violin again. How would _he_ take the news? He had been so strange and moody since their return from Vulcan.

When she was able to talk, she said, "I think we better wait awhile before we tell Simon."

Spock nodded his agreement and kissed her face gently. "Why don't you lie back down and rest? I'll look after him."

oooo

Spock went into Simon's room and sat watching him practice. Though his mind was heavily occupied by Lauren's news, he could not help but notice the intensity of his son's face as Simon played the violin. Musically, he had all but surpassed Spock. It was more than his grasp of the technical requirements; it was the boy's _feel_ for the material. Tonight he was wringing such a depth of emotion from the strings that Spock wondered if Simon had picked up telepathically on his mother's feelings. Or on Spock's own.

Lauren's unexpected announcement had left him shaken and bemused. _Twins._ Two new children in the family. What would they look like? How would they behave? What would be their strengths? Their weaknesses?

Spock remembered how good it had felt to hold his infant son in his arms, and his pride in each of Simon's achievements, be it a new tooth or a new musical award. Now there would be another son, and the experience of raising a young daughter that Spock had missed during T'Beth's early years. Each child a unique blending of Lauren and himself. Each one cherished.

Suddenly Simon's bow went still and he lowered his violin. Fixing Spock with eyes that were blue like his mother's, yet deep-set like his father's, he said, "Vulcans are smarter than humans, aren't they?"

The question took Spock aback. "Simon," he said carefully, "I would not necessarily say that Vulcans are more intelligent. It is only that they process information differently than humans. Vulcan minds are more analytical and their memories are unquestionably superior. However, humans have other gifts that compensate—intangibles such as intuition and inspiration, which are both ways of using their emotions constructively."

"But Vulcans _are_ smarter," Simon insisted. "Your brain is like an encyclopedia."

Spock shook his head. "If that were true, Captain Kirk would never have been able to defeat me in a game of chess. Yet over the years—due to his inspired strategies—he has done so."

"But I bet you've won a lot more games than him. And you could even tell me the exact number… _and_ the exact dates."

"Never mind," Spock said. "Some things simply cannot be compared. There is an old Earth saying about apples and oranges. Have you ever heard it?"

Simon nodded, but something in the depths of his eyes remained stubbornly unconvinced.

The conversation troubled Spock far into the night. Some boys had ridiculed Simon when they were on Vulcan. Before the trip, Simon had never exhibited any feelings of inferiority. The school in which he was enrolled treated his mixed blood with sensitivity, and he was doing well there. The Virginia Hatch Institute emphasized music, but there was also plenty of attention given to academics. Simon had been reading since he was three. In all but one subject he was achieving well above grade level. It was rather disappointing to Spock that his son showed no aptitude for science, but Simon had no reason to feel inferior. No reason at all.

oooo

Friday morning, Simon did not get up when his mother called him. Finally she came into the bedroom and turned on the light.

"Simon," she said, "get moving. You're going to be late for school."

Simon's heart beat faster. Just thinking of the test today made him feel shivery and sick to his stomach. Pulling the covers up to his chin, he said in a small voice, "Mom, I don't feel very good."

Worry appeared in his mother's eyes. Bending over him, she pushed back his hair and pressed her soft hand to his forehead. "I don't think you have a fever," she said thoughtfully. "Where do you feel bad?"

Simon's throat was so dry that it almost hurt when he swallowed. He forced a cough. "My stomach…and my throat."

Mom looked at him with so much trust and concern that he felt eaten up with guilt. He reminded himself that he really didn't feel good at all. It was the truth. He got scared when she left the room to get her medscanner. She was a doctor. In a minute she would find out there nothing really wrong.

Father was with her when she came back. Simon closed his eyes and pressed his face into the pillow while Mom scanned him. He should never have done this.

"No fever," he heard her say, "no sign of infection, but his pulse is awfully rapid. If he really feels sick, he better stay home in bed. I'll call Mrs. Sakata."

She left the room, but Father stayed close by the bed, looking at him. He was quiet for so long that Simon finally had to peek. Spock's face was as trusting as Lauren's. Vulcans never lied, and they didn't expect their children to lie, either.

"You will probably feel better tomorrow," Father said gently.

Hot tears pricked Simon's eyes, and all of a sudden he threw up something yellow and bitter on his pillow.

oooo

In recent years it had become something of a tradition. When the first mountain snowfall heralded the approach of winter, Lauren packed a hearty meal and the whole family headed up to the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Simon had been looking forward to it for weeks, but now that the day had finally arrived, he was unusually subdued. When it came time to leave, Lauren found him standing in front of the bathroom mirror wetting down his dark hair and combing it forward. Each time, the curls sprang back as if they had a mind of their own.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Simon startled at the sound of her voice. Looking decidedly guilty, he shrugged. "Nothing."

"Well, you've been awfully quiet. Are you feeling sick again?" If he was having another one of his stomach upsets, he might throw up in the skimmer. "Tell me the truth, Simon. We can always go to the mountains another day."

"No, Mom," he said. "I'm fine—really. Did you get potato salad? The hot kind?"

"Yes." Still eyeing him, she handed over a knitted cap and he pulled it down over his damp hair. "If you're sure then, we'll go. Everyone's waiting."

Lauren was glad T'Beth was able to join them, so she could ride with her brother on the sled they had crammed into the skimmer. Spock might be good for a ride or two, but this year Lauren was not taking any chances of getting hurt. And there was something else planned for this special day, too.

At their camp, Spock immediately built a fire. Though the day was clear and bright, it was almost noon before the sun edged the temperature above freezing. Soon it was time to prepare lunch, and a pleasant aroma of food mingled with the wood smoke.

Now that everything was ready, Lauren found that she was more nervous than hungry. Taking a deep breath, she sat beside Spock on a fallen log. "Okay, this is it. Who's going to tell them—you or me?"

Spock looked at her, and though a knitted hat covered half of his eyebrows, she knew one had lifted. "I thought," he said low, "that we had already decided that since pregnancy is a female condition…"

"I would do the telling," she finished for him. "Yes, I remember _you_ saying that—as if _you_ had nothing whatsoever to do with these little surprises of ours."

Simon's voice called out, "Surprises? What surprises?"

Lauren and Spock looked around and saw T'Beth laboring up the hillside, pulling Simon behind her on the sled.

"Remarkable," Spock muttered, "how voices carry in this mountain air."

A few minutes later they were together around the fire, eating in hungry silence. Lauren had told Simon that they would announce the surprise after lunch, and he was shoveling food into his mouth quickly. She noticed T'Beth's curious eyes lingering on her face, and on Spock.

Finally T'Beth said, "Alright, I can't stand this. It's something big, isn't it? You two always save big news for the campfire."

Lauren cast Spock a bemused glance. Obviously T'Beth was thinking about the stormy evening at Yosemite when they had announced their intention to marry. What a fiasco that had been, but T'Beth had changed. Lauren knew she would take today's announcement in stride. It was Simon who worried her.

She watched her young son hurriedly chew his food. She was the one who broke the news at Yosemite. This time, she would let Spock do it. Setting down her plate, she said, "Okay, your father has something to tell both of you."

She turned her head and met Spock's narrowed eyes with a bemused smile.

"This is not how we planned it," he objected.

"How _you_ planned it, you mean," she countered.

"Come on—tell us!" T'Beth demanded impatiently. Across the campfire her hazel eyes became calculating. "Wait a minute. Does this have anything to do with Lauren not going on the sled? And why she's starting to wear clothes that are a little looser around the waist? Correct me if I'm wrong, but could this big news of yours be what's called a 'blessed event'?"

Spock shifted on the log. "There," he said to Lauren, "we have no need to tell her. She already knows."

A wide grin spread over T'Beth's face. Plunking her plate on the ground, she said, "You're kidding. Not another one."

Lauren could almost feel Spock cringing with embarrassment beside her.

"No, not another one," he said, staring into the fire. "Another…two."

T'Beth's smile broadened and she let out a laugh. _"Two!"_ And then she laughed again. " 'They were fertile and multiplied'."

Simon looked around, confused. "Two of what? What are you talking about?"

 _"Babies_ , silly!" T'Beth told him. "Your mother's pregnant—with twins!"

oooo

Simon glanced up warily from his desk and checked on the teacher. Mrs. Caprino was busy with something off in a corner of the classroom. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he looked back at the science questions on his monitor. Pretending to be sick hadn't solved anything. Mrs. Caprino always made him take the test anyway, and he did just as badly.

Father kept telling him that he needed to study harder. He had offered to help with a teaching meld, the same as when he taught Simon the Vulcan language. But this time Simon had said no. He was afraid to let his father see that he had lied about being sick. He was ashamed to let him see how he really felt about the new babies. He didn't want them. He didn't want to share his parents with anyone but T'Beth. What would happen if the babies were born looking like Vulcans? Father would like them a lot better than Simon.

Brushing a tear from the corner of his eye, he stared at the science test on the screen. He _had_ to put down the right answers this time. He had to show his father that he was as smart as a Vulcan.

Simon sneaked another quick glance at the teacher. She was still busy. Very slowly he unclenched his left fist and peeked at the palm of his cupped hand. Sweat had made the ink smear, but he could still read most of it. _This is wrong,_ he thought. It was the worst thing he had ever done, even worse than playing sick to get out of school. But he _had_ to pass this test.

His heart thumped in his chest as he quickly copied the answers. It didn't take long. As soon as he was finished, he went to the restroom and washed his hands and tried not to think about what he had just done.

oooo

Spock read the weekly report on Simon's school progress with surprise and pleasure. "You did considerably better in science," he said. "Very good, Simon. It seems that all you needed was a bit more effort."

Simon looked at him, unsmiling, and then lowered his gaze.

Spock studied his son's face. "Are you angry with me for expecting you to try harder?"

Simon shrugged and stared at the floor.

"That is no answer," Spock told him.

The boy sighed. "I just want you to be proud of me."

Spock's eyebrow crept upward. "Simon," he said sincerely, "I have always been proud of you—and you should be very proud of yourself for improving in science. You must have worked very hard."

oooo

Shrill screams ripped Lauren from a deep sleep, and she was out of bed almost before realizing she was awake. For once she had reacted even faster than Spock. She saw his dark shape rising off the pillow as she hurriedly slipped into her robe.

"Simon?" he asked in a shocked tone.

"Probably a nightmare," she said, although Simon had not had a bad dream in years. "I'll take care of it."

The screams turned into sobs as she opened Simon's door and raised his light. At the sight of her, he sat up, eyes wide from some inner terror. "Mom!" he cried.

Lauren hurried over. "It's alright, honey, I'm here." She sat on the bed and he clutched her, crying hard as she ran her fingers through his dark, wavy hair. "Was it a bad dream?"

His head nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No," he said, quieter now. Then, with a sniffle, "T'Beth told me that parents on Vulcan can divorce their children—that one time Father was going to divorce her because she was so bad."

Lauren held him close. "Is that really what T'Beth said? Were those her exact words?"

Simon thought for a moment. "No. Not exactly. But she said he was thinking about it."

"Yes," Lauren said, "but not because she was bad. You see, Spock didn't know T'Beth until she was eleven years old. For a while they couldn't seem to get along, and he thought that maybe she would do better with a different father. It was because he loved her, Simon, and wanted what was best for her. He didn't really want to give her up."

"But Vulcans _can_ ," he persisted, "if they want to."

Lauren looked down into his tear-tracked face. "Simon, why are you worried about this? Is it because of the babies? Your father would never give you up for anything, and neither would I."

Wiping his eyes, Simon pulled away and stared somberly at the bulge showing under her robe. "But what if they turn out Vulcan? What if—"

"We've told you it won't make any difference how they look. No one will ever take your place or take away the special love we feel for you. Think about it—you even have your father's name, don't you? Simon Spock."

"But what if they're better than me? What if they never do anything bad?"

Lauren gave him a hug. "Then they wouldn't be children—they'd be angels."

After Lauren left him, she went back to bed and snuggled up to Spock's warmth.

"Damage report," he said.

His attempt at humor brought a much-needed smile to her lips. "Funny," she murmured, but then her smile faded. "He's still worried about the babies…"

oooo

By now it had become a regular Friday routine. As soon as Simon got to school he went into a restroom stall and copied science facts from a piece of paper onto his palms. Then he flushed the paper down the toilet. The teacher never asked to look at his hands. Maybe she didn't think anyone would ever try something like that, or at least not him.

Simon settled into his desk and waited for the weekly test to appear on his monitor. Then he checked on the teacher. Today she stayed at her desk, which made it especially easy to read the answers, since the monitor hid what he was doing.

He was halfway through the test when a little wad of paper hit the right side of his face. Startled, he turned. The boy in the next seat glared at him. Collin was nine years old and played the piano. They had never really been friends.

Collin's brown eyes narrowed with scorn. "Cheater!" he hissed.

Mrs. Caprino looked up from her desk.

Simon dropped his hands into his lap. Heart slamming, he rubbed his palms vigorously against his blue uniform pants. He had to get all the ink off, fast.

The teacher stood and walked down the aisle toward them. "Collin," she asked, "did you say something?"

Simon met the animosity in the older boy's eyes and glanced away, helpless to stop what he knew was coming.

"He's _cheating,"_ Collin accused loudly. "Simon has the answers written on his hands. I saw it."

Simon's face went hot with humiliation and he scrunched down in his seat. Everyone in the class was staring.

Mrs. Caprino loomed over him. "Is that true, Simon?"

Simon swallowed hard. "No," said in a small voice.

"Yes, you were!" cried Collin.

Mrs. Caprino's attention never left Simon. "Stand up," she ordered.

Feeling sick, he got to his feet.

"Show me your hands," she said.

He extended them, palms down and trembling.

Then she said, "Turn them over."

He couldn't do it, so she reached out and turned them herself. When she touched him, he could feel her dismay at the smudged words on his hands. Tears blurred his eyes.

Mrs. Caprino sighed and turned off his monitor. "Sit down, Simon. I'll speak to you—and your parents—about this later."

oooo

Spock could remember when his son used to meet him at the door with a childish, exuberant hug. As Simon grew older, the greetings had become more restrained. Today, Simon was nowhere in sight when Spock returned home from his day at Starfleet Academy. The house was strangely quiet. No voices, no violin, no sounds of play. One would almost think it was still Little League season and Simon was off at practice.

He found Lauren stretched out on the living room sofa, reading from a Padd.

"Where is he?" Spock asked.

She pointed a finger toward the staircase. "Upstairs. Mrs. Sakata said he came home from school moping. I don't know what's wrong. He won't tell me."

Spock thought over the situation as he undid the fastenings on his uniform jacket. "Perhaps he had an altercation with one of his friends," he speculated.

Just then the living room phone rang. Spock went over and ordered the call onscreen. A young, pleasant-looking woman appeared. It was Simon's science teacher. Perhaps she had phoned to discuss Simon's splendid improvement.

Not bothering to sit, Spock said, "Mrs. Caprino."

Lauren came over and stood beside him.

The teacher gazed at them with a rather apologetic expression. "I'm glad you're both home. I need to talk to you about Simon. Did he say anything about the trouble at school today?"

Spock exchanged a quick glance with his wife. _A fight,_ he automatically thought. _Simon has been in a fight._

Then Mrs. Caprino said, "I caught Simon cheating on a test."

"What?" cried Lauren with a shock that clearly equaled Spock's own.

He did not believe it—or more accurately, he did not want to believe it. Why would someone with Simon's intelligence be tempted to cheat? "Perhaps there has been some mistake," he suggested.

Mrs. Caprino shook her head. "I caught him red-handed—or should I say blue-handed? He'd written the science facts on his palms. I've already talked to him about it, and I don't think we should overreact, but it is very important that Simon understand why cheating is unacceptable."

"Yes," Spock agreed. "Be assured, I will speak to him."

Mrs. Caprino's eyes focused on Spock, and she was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Captain…I am aware of your fine reputation in the field of science. I mean no offense, but I can't help wondering if perhaps…you might be pushing your son a little too hard."

In the periphery of his vision, Spock saw Lauren stiffen.

"My husband does not push Simon," she said coolly. "He encourages him."

"Of course," the teacher said quickly, and smiled at them both. "As I said, I was only wondering. Sometimes, if children feel unduly pressured…"

Spock knew Lauren was growing angry and brought the conversation to an end.

As the screen went blank, she hotly said, "If anyone's pressuring Simon, it's himself! He's so darn competitive."

Spock shook his head, perplexed. "One can only guess at his motivation. But I admit that I am very disappointed in him."

"Well, I suppose we should look at the bright side," Lauren said in a calmer tone. "At least now we know why he's been holed up in his room."

Spock took a moment to collect his thoughts, then went to the foot of the stairs and called Simon down. It took longer than usual for the boy to appear. Slowly he walked down the steps, his face pale, his eyes brimming with tears. At the halfway point he stopped.

"Come here," Spock said.

Simon descended the rest of the stairs and stood before Spock, his head hanging.

"Mrs. Caprino caught you cheating today," Spock said, pained by the very sound of the words.

Simon did not react.

Spock looked at Lauren. The sight of their son's misery had clearly aroused her maternal sympathies. Moist-eyed, she sank into a chair and took on the role of observer. It would be up to Spock to discipline him. Very well.

"Is it true?" he asked Simon. "Were you cheating on the science test?"

Simon's lower lip quivered. Fresh tears began to stream down. "Yes," he choked. "I…I only wanted to make you proud."

"By _cheating."_

Simon's face contorted. A low, distressing wail rose from deep in his throat. Spock pressed his lips together and gave Lauren another glance. Now there were tears on her face, too, but Spock refused to be swayed by any displays of emotion.

Sternly he questioned Simon. "Is this why your grade has improved? You have been cheating on your science examinations for some time, haven't you?"

The boy nodded.

"You have been taking credit for invalid accomplishments. That is the same as lying. Simon, I am not pleased. I do not expect you to excel in every subject, but I do expect you to try your honest best. I offered to help you with your studies, but you refused. That is alright. You wanted to achieve success completely on your own. But Simon, when you cheat, you achieve nothing."

Simon began to sob hard. "I'm sorry...I won't…ever do it…again...I promise."

Spock could see what it cost Lauren to hold back from comforting the child. Later, she could go to him. As difficult as it was, Spock had to make this clear. "I hope that is a promise you intend to keep. This time I will give you some supplemental assignments to hand in to your teacher. But…" he paused meaningfully, "this must _never_ happen again. Do you understand?"

"Yes…sir," Simon force out.

"Then that is all," Spock finished. "Go back to your room now and think about what I have said."

As Simon turned and ran upstairs, Spock very nearly sighed in relief. It was the first time Simon had ever done anything seriously wrong. Correcting him had proven far more difficult than Spock had anticipated.

Lauren wiped the tears from her face and looked at him. "I'm glad you handled it. One look at that sad little face and I was ready to cave in."

"He has to learn," Spock said as much for his own benefit as hers.

"Yes, I know," she conceded wistfully. "If only the learning didn't have to be so painful." Leaning forward, she doubled her arms against her thickening middle, as if the whole thing had upset her stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

With the passing of the weeks, Simon escaped more and more into his music. It was the only part of his world that he felt like he could control. Everything else had changed.

He ached for the easy closeness he had once shared with his father, but every time Simon saw him, he remembered the scolding. He was ashamed of not living up to his father's expectations. No matter how hard he tried to do better in science, he always seemed to mess up.

At school now, Mrs. Caprino checked everyone's hands before a test. The other children resented it. They all knew it was because Simon had cheated. Sometimes they gave him dirty look and called him names under their breath.

And then there was his mother. As Christmas approached, her stomach kept growing bigger and rounder, so there was no way to forget about the twins coming. Simon noticed how gently Father treated her, and the way his eyes looked when he touched her stomach and felt the babies moving. Mom had made Simon feel them, too, but he didn't like it. It felt like snakes wiggling around in a sack.

Day by day Simon grew more afraid. It didn't matter what anyone said, he knew what was going to happen when the babies came. Mom had told him how much she and Father loved him when he was born. Well, soon there would be two new babies. There wouldn't be much love left over for Simon-the-cheater. With each twitching and kicking of the dreaded twins, Simon could feel his parents slipping further away. He had to work extra hard to make himself lovable. Maybe if he did _everything_ just right…maybe if he even passed _science.._.

Late into the night Simon's Padd shone under the covers as he struggled to absorb each boring assignment. It always seemed as if he had learned them, but as soon as he faced the weekly test, something inside him panicked and his mind went blank. There was going to be a big examination before school let out for Christmas. The closer it came, the more Simon realized that there was only one way he could ever pass it. It seemed that whatever he decided to do, he would end up being a big disappointment.

For days he wrestled with his conscience. If he didn't cheat, he would fail science. If he helped himself out with a few notes, at least he would have a chance of getting away with it. And if he got caught again?

Simon shivered to think of the Vulcan whip he had seen among his father's things on Vulcan. He had never even been spanked before, but he could imagine that something like a sturpa would hurt a lot. _Where was that sturpa now? Where would Spock keep something like that?_

On the afternoon before the big test, it rained hard. Simon was alone with Mrs. Sakata when he decided to look for the sturpa. Going upstairs, he sneaked into his father's study and eased the drawers open, one at a time, careful to leave everything exactly as he had found it. Even the drawer with the lock opened easily, but the sturpa was not inside.

Father kept the room very warm. Simon was beginning to sweat, but he went to the closet anyway. The shelf was too high for him to reach. Rolling the desk chair over, he stood on it and pulled down a box.

Suddenly the door to the study opened. Simon's heart leaped and he sucked in his breath as T'Beth walked in.

His sister caught sight of him and said, "Simon! What are you doing in here?"

Because of the pounding rain, Simon had not heard her come into the house. He was so embarrassed and angry that he shot back, "What are _you_ doing in here?"

"Looking for you," she answered. T'Beth always had an answer. "Hey, I bet you're snooping around for Christmas presents, aren't you?"

Simon put the box back on the shelf and said, "Maybe."

He got down from the chair. His shoes had left funny marks on the seat, and the carpet was tracked from the chair's wheels.

T'Beth noticed, too. "Uh-oh, now you're in for trouble. You better get out of here."

Simon turned on her. "Why? Are you going to tell on me?"

Her eyes opened wide. "Simon, how can you say that? What's the matter with you lately?"

"You weren't any angel, either," he accused. "I've heard about some of the things you did."

T'Beth gave him a pained look. "I'm sure you have, Simon. And someday I'll tell you more about it, so maybe you won't make the same stupid mistakes."

Simon shoved Father's chair so hard against the desk that it banged. "I'm not stupid!" he shouted. "You think you're so smart because you're Vulcan-looking—but you're not smart at all! You're dumb and you're ugly!"

His heart hammering, he ran to his room and slipped under the bed where it was dark and quiet. He had thought that T'Beth would send the babysitter home, but a few minutes later Auntie Sakata opened the door to his room and walked in. The old lady had been working for the family since he was a baby. She was the wife of their Japanese gardener, much wrinkled and very clever. She knew all his tricks.

Sitting down on the bed, she said, "Okay Simon, if you won't come out from there, I'll just talk to you like this."

Simon heard the mattress creaking above him. Resting his head on his arms, he stared at the back of Auntie's shoes.

"Why you being so mean to your sister?" she asked. "T'Beth came to take you shopping and buy a special gift for Doctor and the captain. Maybe a cheeseburger for you, too. But now you hurt her feelings and she went alone. Why you such a bad boy today?"

"I am not!" he cried.

"Ah-hah!" she said. "I knew you were down there. If you're such a good boy, why not show your face?"

Simon waited to see if she would go away. She didn't. Finally he crawled out and sat far away from her, near the head of the bed. Still angry, he said, "She called me stupid!"

Auntie's sharp eyes studied him. "Just like that? I don't think so. Maybe you misunderstood a little."

In his heart Simon knew she was right; he had deliberately taken T'Beth's words the wrong way, just because he felt like yelling at her. Now his sister was hurt and he had missed out on some fun, too. Rising, he left the room and went downstairs.

Later, T'Beth came back with a gift-wrapped present and put it under Mom's Christmas tree in the living room. Simon would not meet her eyes when she looked at him. He was too proud to ask her what was in the gift; besides, she probably wouldn't tell him, anyway.

After dinner he went to his bedroom and took his violin from its case. The new, larger instrument had been a present from his parents on his last birthday. He loved its flawless, satiny blend of woods. He loved the way he felt when he ran the bow across its strings, making the beautiful music vibrate against his chin. He loved the painless world into which its music drew him—a place where he was always brilliant and accomplished and powerful.

Lifting the violin into position, he closed his eyes and began to play. The music flowed from her, in turn both sad and joyous. As he neared the end of the composition, he opened his eyes and found his father standing just inside the door, arms crossed, watching him.

Simon froze. The bow skittered sourly across the strings, ruining everything.

"I did not mean to startle you," Father said. "What is that piece you were playing? It is unfamiliar."

Simon thought about the marks on the chair and on the carpet in Spock's study. He tried to remember if he had shut the closet door. Finally he said, "Oh, it was just…some dumb little thing I made up."

A smarting conscience made Simon's gaze drop to the violin in his lap. If he had been looking at his father, he would have seen an open display of astonishment. In the corner of his vision he saw Spock uncross his arms. Though his father had never in his life struck him, Simon tensed as if expecting a blow.

"You composed it?"

Simon nodded stiffly.

"It is not 'some dumb little thing', Simon. It's very impressive. Have you written the notes down?"

Simon shrugged. "What for? It's in my head."

"For _others_ ," Father said in the very patient tone that meant he was not really feeling very patient at all. "For others, so that they can also enjoy the music. You should be proud to share such a wonderful gift."

It felt like Father was calling him selfish and giving him another scolding. Simon just wished he would go away.

Instead, Spock said, "I know you are still having difficulty with science. I want to offer my help once more. You know there are Vulcan ways of imparting knowledge that are quite effective."

Simon panicked at the thought of Father entering his mind and seeing all the bad things hidden there. Yet to turn down his father's help would be like saying he didn't need it, that he could pass the test all on his own.

After a moment Father said, "I will be downstairs if you want me." Then he left the room.

Simon's eyes filled with tears. He felt like running after his father and letting him do anything he wanted, anything, just to bring back the feeling of closeness they used to have. He didn't want Father to leave him and go downstairs with T'Beth and Mom and the babies-that-were-on-the-way.

But Simon sat on his bed, as still as stone. What was he going to do? The big test was tomorrow. Now that he had refused Father's help, there might be trouble if he failed. And Simon knew without a doubt that he was going to fail that test.

oooo

It was late. Simon had gone to bed hours ago. Even T'Beth was upstairs in the room she used whenever she slept over. The fire in the living room hearth had burned low, and music played softly.

Kicking off her slippers, Lauren tucked her feet underneath her and leaned back on the sofa. "I'm glad tomorrow is the last day of school," she said to Spock, who was busy at a corner cabinet. "Maybe Simon will unwind a little during vacation. He's been so tense. I wish I knew what was going on inside that head of his."

Silently Spock poured a libation from his odd collection of Vulcan brews. Aside from the decanter of _shayo_ preserved from their bonding day, these concoctions were mostly non-alcoholic fruit-based teas. Lauren had been known to tease him about the content of his mixed drinks, but some of them actually tasted quite good.

The white pinpoint lights of the Christmas tree shone on him as he swirled the purple tea called _ratochi_ in a flared crystal goblet. He rose from his thoughts to say, "Our son has become noticeably withdrawn."

"Exactly," Lauren said, "and it's really beginning to worry me."

Spock took a sip from the glass that they would share together—a Vulcan courtesy that stemmed from the dim past when barbarism and intrigue made poisonings commonplace on his planet. The first time he had engaged in this custom, she had mistaken the caring act for bad manners. Now she knew better.

Spock joined her on the couch and passed her the goblet. With a glimmer in his eye, he said, "I am sorry that I have no jelly doughnut to offer you."

Lauren felt a warm flush, and smiled. Ever since her difficulties with a certain doctor on Vulcan, the mention of doughnuts had held a private meaning for them. She deliberately turned the goblet so her lips touched the same place from which Spock had drunk—an additional Vulcan intimacy reserved only for lovers. Like jelly doughnuts, it also had a special significance that made her feel as if the room's temperature had just risen several degrees. Meeting her husband's eyes, she swallowed a little of the ratochi. Its flavor reminded her of cherries, with a pleasant mint aftertaste.

"Simon has great depth," Spock said. "Did you know that he has begun composing his own music?"

Lauren pulled her mind back to their son. "Composing? I've heard him play a couple of little tunes he made up."

"No," Spock said, "I don't mean those. "Surely you heard the piece he played after dinner."

Lauren was shocked. "You're telling me he wrote that?"

"Yes." And he added, "I do not believe Simon would lie about his music."

Lauren held his gaze, too stunned to say anything. Spock took the goblet from her hand and set it aside.

"It is rather daunting," he remarked, "isn't it? To be the custodians of such talent."

Lauren put a hand on her expanding middle and absently stroked it. "Before Simon was born, I always pictured him being so ordinary."

Spock's eyes smiled at her. "I remember. In the beginning you envisioned him with lots of golden hair, just like yours."

"I guess I was wrong about a lot of things. I can't even imagine what these two will be like—and I don't mean physically. The genetic scan shows I'll get my blondie this time."

"Another golden-haired girl," he briefly mused.

Then he was leaning closer and Lauren felt herself falling into the shadowed depths of his Vulcan eyes. Their palms, somehow, were touching. The enticing pressure made her forget everything but the warm resonance of Spock's thoughts teasing at the boundary of her mind. Captivated, she eased back onto the cushions and welcomed him.

A pair of eyes watched from high on the staircase.

Simon had been secretly observing his parents for several minutes. Not that he could hear what they were saying—he was not close enough for that, but he just knew they had been talking about _them—_ about the babies and how wonderful they would be.

Then Father had started the hand-thing with Mom. Simon had seen them do it only once before, and it made him feel funny, the way they stared into one another's eyes. Now Father was kissing Mom on the mouth. It was a long, wet-looking kiss, and Simon screwed up his face in disgust. Before it was over, he got up and quietly started back to his bedroom. After one step he came to an abrupt halt. T'Beth stood at the stop of the stairs, her eyes locked on his blushing face.

If he made a single sound, his parents would hear and T'Beth would tell them what he had been up to. Maybe she would tell Father about being in his study, too. Then there'd be more trouble— _lots_ of it.

Trying not to show his fear, Simon continued up the stairs and hoped that she would just let him go past. When he reached the top, she took him by the arm, pulled him into his room and shut the door. Then she slapped him hard on the seat of his pajamas.

"Quit it!" he cried out, but not as loud as he would have liked. "I'm going to tell!"

T'Beth released him. "Go ahead, go tell on me right now. Simon, you know better than to spy on people."

"I was just sitting there!"

"Uh-huh," she said. "Want to tell that to Father's face? I already saved you once, today. I fixed his study so he wouldn't know you were in there poking around. But you didn't deserve it. I should have left things the way they were."

Simon glared at her. "Leave me alone."

Jumping into bed, he turned his back on her and pulled the covers tight against his chin.

"Simon," T'Beth said in a gentler voice, "sometimes it's awfully hard being a kid. I know—"

"You think you know everything," he cut in without looking at her. "You think you're so smart. Well, just go away!"

After a moment T'Beth turned out the light and left.

Alone in the darkness, Simon rubbed his stinging bottom and let the tears come. T'Beth used to be his friend. She didn't have any right to hit him. She didn't have any business telling him what to do. He'd do whatever he felt like. He'd show her. Tomorrow he'd show _all_ of them.

oooo

Spock found the message at his academy desk when he returned from a faculty meeting. The principal of the Virginia Hatch Institute requested that he get in touch at his earliest convenience. Spock called immediately and was informed by Mr. Budhram that Simon was suspected of cheating on another science examination.

Hearing the unpleasant news, Spock sat back in his chair and considered. It was difficult to believe that Simon would try such a thing after the lecture he had received last time. He said, "You sound as if there is some uncertainty."

The principal held up a little slip of paper. "He was consulting this during the test. Our scan determined that it's Vulcan script. Science terms from the unit Simon is studying."

Spock's face remained carefully impassive. How clever of the boy. Even if he were caught, no one would immediately know the script's meaning. Clever…but not clever enough.

Leaving his assistant in charge, he donned an overcoat and flew his skimmer through a chilling rain to Simon's school. The campus was among the most beautiful that Spock had seen anywhere in his travels through the galaxy. Built over two hundred years earlier, no effort had been spared in providing an esthetically pleasing environment. But Spock's mind was not occupied with such matters as he landed the skimmer and strode through the storm. He approached the ivy-covered walls of the administration cottage with one thought consuming him.

 _How would he handle his son?_

A secretary ushered him into the principal's plush office. Inside, Spock found Simon hunched down in one of the antique chairs lining one wall. Spock looked him in the eye and Simon's gaze slid away. In that instant he knew without a doubt that the boy was guilty.

Turning to the principal, Spock exchanged greetings and then sat to examine the crumpled paper taken from Simon. The cramped, childish symbols would be painfully clear to any Vulcan. Spock read aloud from the list of scientific facts, and then looked once more at Simon. In the brief meeting of their eyes, Spock thought he detected a stirring of anger along with the fear and crushed pride he had expected. Did Simon actually feel betrayed by him? Had the boy expected Spock to pretend ignorance?

Spock put the paper in the pocket of his overcoat and addressed the principal. "Thank you for calling me. Please accept my apology for the disruption my son caused. I am sure Simon also wishes to apologize."

Simon straightened in his seat, blue eyes wide open.

"Stand up," Spock told him.

Simon rose and mumbled something that even Spock could not hear.

"Louder," Spock said firmly.

Simon's lip began to tremble. Tears spilled down his cheeks. Facing the principal, he said, "I'm sorry that I cheated, Mr. Budhram."

There followed a brief review of the school disciplinary policy, which did not improve Spock's frame of mind. Simon was under suspension for a week, to be imposed at the end of vacation. One more serious infraction and he would be expelled from the institute.

There was no other school of this kind in Northern California. Because of its excellent musical program, Spock had never begrudged the high cost of tuition at V.H I., but now Simon's behavior was jeopardizing his chance at a fine education.

Spock took his downcast son out to the skimmer and lifted off in silence. All the way home, he grappled with his anger. Lauren was just entering the house when they arrived. After informing her of the situation, he confronted Simon right where the boy stood.

"Just last night," Spock said, "I offered to assist you. Instead, you chose a crooked path."

Simon hung his head and began to weep quietly.

 _"Why?"_ Spock demanded. Surely that was not too much to ask, yet the boy remained stubbornly silent. "Do you no longer care about music?"

That brought his head up. "Yes, I _do_ care!" Simon cried. "Music is everything! It's all I have!"

"Well then. That is a start. Did you hear what your principal said? One more violation and you are expelled from the institute. He warned you the first time. Why would you risk your musical education by cheating yet again?"

Spock heard the rain pounding as he waited in vain for his son to respond. At last he said, "Go wait for me in my study."

Simon turned away and climbed the stairs slowly. It was a moment before Spock looked at Lauren. Her eyes were deeply troubled. Did he see in them a stirring of distrust?

"What," she asked, "do you intend to do?"

He had no immediate answer. "Cheating. On Vulcan such behavior is—"

"I'm sick and tired of hearing how it is on Vulcan," she flared. "This is Earth. From Day 1, I told you Simon would be raised human."

Spock's anger freshened. "To the contrary—on Day 1 you had no intention of keeping him."

Very quietly and distinctly she said, "And perhaps _you_ will remember _why?_ Or must I spell it out for you."

His gaze fell, turning inward to the painful images that never entirely left him. "That will not be necessary. I remember. You know full well that I remember." Taking a breath, he faced her. "Kindly tell me—as a human, how would one deal with Simon's behavior?"

"There's always an old-fashioned spanking."

Spock's stomach tightened as he recalled the many childhood beatings he had endured at the hands of his great-grandfather Solkar. "Out of the question," he said. "But talking to Simon has not yielded satisfactory results. Apparently the boy has not been inclined to listen."

"Well then," Lauren said. "Have you tried listening to _him?"_

oooo

Spock entered his study and closed the door behind him. Simon stood by the desk, the fingers of one hand clutching at its edge. His wet, frightened eyes went to Spock's hands and saw that they were empty.

"What are you going to do?" his voice tremored.

The knot in Spock's stomach cinched tighter. "Simon, you were warned, yet you decided to go ahead and cheat anyway."

"But I was going to fail," Simon choked.

"Cheating," Spock said, "is a far worse kind of failure. I would not be nearly as displeased by a bad grade."

Fat tears dripped onto Simon's school jacket.

"Sit down," Spock said in a gentler tone.

The boy sank into a chair, looking utterly miserable, and Spock settled behind his desk.

After a moment of thought, Spock asked, "Are you happy?"

"No," Simon moaned.

"Then if cheating does not make you happy, why would you do it?"

The boy bent over and buried his face in his arms. "'Cause."

"'Cause is not a proper word. You were deeply afraid of failing and I want to know why."

When no answer came forth, Spock confined him to his room until he was willing to speak.

oooo

Simon was hungry. A delicious aroma drifted upstairs, and he knew the family was eating dinner. By now even T'Beth probably knew what had happened at school, and he did not want to face any of them. Before the talk in Father's study, he had heard his parents arguing—probably about him. Where they still angry at one another? And at him?

Seated all alone on his bed, he took up his violin and began to play "Away in the Manger", a sad piece that suited his mood perfectly. He kept thinking how good it would be if he had never cheated, and no one was arguing, and he was downstairs with his family right now—even with the babies. He remembered how he sometimes used to tiptoe up behind Father sitting on the sofa and suddenly hug him around the neck. Father would break his hold and pull him onto his lap, and then they would talk "man to man", as Mom called it. But that was before Simon had started worrying about everything.

He finished playing and put his violin aside. Reaching into the bookcase on his headboard, he picked an antique book and settled back against his pillows. The Christmas carol played on in his mind as he studied the colorful illustrations. One picture showed the baby Jesus in a manger full of yellow straw. Light streamed from around the soft curls on his head, making him look very sweet and holy. His eyes were filled with love.

Mom said that God loved everyone, and if you opened your heart to Him, He would help you to be loving, too. Simon had seen the scars on his sister's legs and heard her tell how she had been healed on another planet, just by prayer—Donari prayer. T'Beth said that God was everywhere in the universe, that He cared about everybody, that life without Him was dark and empty.

 _Dark and empty—_ that was exactly how Simon had been feeling lately. With a sigh he studied the comforting picture in the Christmas book. Father never talked about God. T'Beth said it was because he didn't believe God existed, and he had made an agreement with Mom to let her handle that department.

A tapping sound drew him out of his thoughts. Mom came into the bedroom and Father was right behind her. Simon could tell at once that they were not arguing anymore, and was relieved.

Unexpectedly his mother said, "Tomorrow we're all going to the beach house. You can bring your violin and we'll play music together. We haven't done that in a long time."

Simon perked up at the thought. Father knew how to play the piano at the beach house, and he also played the flute as well as Mom. T'Beth played the piano, too, but not very well. It did not seem to bother her the way being bad at science bothered Simon.

He was sorry now that he had yelled at his sister and said mean things to her. But he was even sorrier that he had broken his promise about cheating.

Mom came closer and her voice was very gentle. "Simon, downstairs you said that music is all that you have. What about us? What about your family?"

Simon rose from the bed and gave her a hug. With a timid look at his father, he said, "You're so strong and smart and brave. You have a stack of degrees in science, you've taught science, and you've been a science officer aboard starships. You've even made scientific discoveries all your own, and written about them, and had them published in journals that other people read. And I can't even pass a simple, ordinary test." Tears stung his eyes. "I'm sorry I'm no good at it. I'll never be like you…but maybe the babies will."

Mom gazed down at him and said, "You're _not_ your father. You've got yourself tied in knots over this. Just relax and be yourself. We love you just the way you are."

Simon waited hopefully for Spock to say those three special words. It had been a long time since his father had even said, "I care deeply". Now he simply said, "Your mother is right. I never expected you to be like me. Everyone is different. We must all learn to live within the bounds of our own strengths and weaknesses."

"But you don't _have_ any weaknesses," Simon said.

Father's eyebrow went up. Mom looked at him and smiled. Then she started laughing.

Father gave her a severe look. "I do not see anything humorous about it."

"Oh, believe me, Simon," Mom said, "your father's not as perfect as you seem to think. Why…" she hesitated, "he can't play the violin."

"But he plays the piano," Simon pointed out, "and the flute and the lyrette."

"That's true," Mom said, "but I bet he couldn't get the roses to bloom the way Mr. Sakata does…or bake double chocolate chip cookies from scratch. And he couldn't throw a decent curve ball to save his Vulcan soul. Do you remember what happened when he tried?"

Caught up in the moment, Simon blurted something that was supposed to be a secret between him and T'Beth. "And he doesn't believe in God, either!"

Things got very quiet. His parents looked at one another with serious expressions.

In a small voice Simon asked, "But doesn't _that_ take brains, too?"

"Well, yes," Mom said softly, and put her arm around him. "But mostly, dear, it takes _faith._ Now come downstairs and get some dinner."

oooo

Later, standing in the privacy of Spock's study, Lauren drew close to him and joined her hands behind his neck. Her pregnancy was really starting to get in the way.

"Sorry about Simon's God comment," she said. " _I_ didn't tell him."

Spock's eyes reproached her. "You speak as if I should be ashamed of my views. _I_ am not the one filling his young mind full of myths."

"Oh hush," she said fondly. "The point was that you are not an expert on everything, and Simon needs to know that." She paused and smiled at him mischievously. "You can't argue with what I said about the curve ball. We had the broken window to prove it. Remember?"

"Of course," he said curtly, "and as I recall, the wind that day was gusting to forty miles per hour. Even so, with the proper calculations, I believe that I could have—"

Lauren gave him a shake. "Listen to you! You're just as bad as your son, always wanting to be the best."

He looked genuinely annoyed. "Not _the_ best, Lauren— _my_ best. Or are you implying that there is something wrong with wanting to excel?"

She slid her hands down the sides of his neck and considered throttling him. Instead, she drew him into a kiss.

A bang startled her, and Simon burst into the bedroom doing a dance of joy. "It's snowing, it's snowing! Look outside!"

Flinging open the doors, he ran barefoot onto the balcony and jumped up and down in the icy slush. Lauren and Spock went over to see the rarity of San Francisco weather for themselves. After a moment even T'Beth crowded in. Close by Spock's side, Lauren watched the white flakes swirling in the light from the doors.

Then something very strange happened. Without warning, a peculiar stab of fear caught her. Turning, she searched her husband's face. Didn't he feel it—the danger creeping in on them like a dank, malevolent cloud? How could he _not_ feel it?

The lights from the study cast an eerie orange glow in his eyes. Shivering, she drew back as if he were a stranger.

The moment passed. Once again, he was familiar. Lauren reached for the reassuring warmth of his hand. Spock was not given to intuitions and forebodings. It was difficult for him to understand anything beyond the Vulcan life experience, grounded in cold facts and hard reality. Yet somehow she would have to convince him to take this warning seriously. Something terrible was going to happen—she was sure of it. And it was going to happen soon.


End file.
